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Mackongo Aug 2019
Insides twisted,
By a knife,
Round and round,
Like spaghetti,
Curled on the ground,
I need no pity.

A twisted pain,
More than physical,
Emotion from my brain,
Something not visible.

More than a pain,
Somewhat a nuisance,
Driving me insane,
Making me useless.
Mackongo Sep 2019
I’m reclined in the chair,
For the very first time.
My anxiety at its peak.
It’s black and uncomfortable.
My arm resting on the side.
I begin to bite my cheek.
The equipment sitting there.
Standing by are the people,
Preparing for me, now all set.
I get brave and ready for the needle.

Clear tubes now red,
From my blood running through,
A strange, tingly sensation,
From my blood donation debut.
Racing to the pouch,
Or like a large silly straw,
With some sick beast enjoying
My blood at the end.

Alert at first,
Blinking tiredly soon after,
The room starts to spin.
My eyes playing tricks,
Is all that I could gather.

Suddenly falling,
But deep asleep.
The faces appear,
Absolutely appalling,
Dark orange and black,
Dripping and oozing,
But what flows from them?
My blood, perhaps.

Wait, why am I asleep?
I know I already wrote a short poem about passing out on here before, but I revisited the idea for my creative writing class. I like this better, I think
Mackongo Jul 2019
I want to be yours,
I try, I do,
Hanging by a thread
My internal wars.
Get out of my head,
I beg of you.
Mackongo Nov 2018
Just answer me.
I only want to help.

I know things are tough,
and I want to help.
I want to make you stronger.

I am worried for you.
You know that, right?

Every night, I worry.
Every night, I hope I can help you
make it to the next day.

I want to help you see that life is worth living,
and that I want to be by your side.

I want to help you overcome
this trouble that has come
and that has tried to ruin
someone beautiful.

That someone is you.
I am concerned.
I only want to help,
yet you cast me away.
Mackongo May 2018
Cupid is forever young.
He loads an arrow of love into his bow,
The arrow loaded on a string so tightly hung,
striking me in the heart
with one of his perfect arrows.
Cupid's arrow was ashen,
fading away, turning into love
in my heart.
He gives me passion
And this passion forces me to meet
A man, so wonderful and sweet.

I am only but a simple girl
letting the wings of love unfurl.
I am in love.
I feel so above
where I used to stand.
I love him as I grab his hand,
Knowing that this love is definite.
That this love sets me in paradise.
This young love is infinite.
Mackongo Aug 2019
Said to be in good hands
The room starts to spin
And it goes black
Orange and black faces
Dripping and oozing
Surrounded by medics
Feeling surreal and scared
Blood on my shirt
Can't even give blood right
I knew I was useless
maybe i can sell my organs haha
Mackongo Nov 2018
The bright glow from the phone illuminated her face,
Tears forming,
Lips parted,
Eyebrows furrowed.
Her grip tightened on the phone,
her only crutch keeping her sane,
and to cope with the sadness.

Keep it together.
Don't cry.
Don't let them see you like this.

Her head falls and the glow disappears,
leaving her in darkness, defeated.

Everything we have worked for,
Every **** hour spent,
And this is how it ends.
Don't let them see you like this.
Don't cry.
Keep it together.

A tear rolls down her porcelain cheek,
and it is too late.
She's been spotted.
I wrote this because I do One Acts (Competitive Theater), and we had districts today. There were Eight schools in this competition, and we got our results in the end: Dead last. It wasn't the actors or plot, it was the time! Truly, this was our very best performance, everyone thought so! It was just that we had two minutes over the time limit. 30 minutes is the limit, and well, we had 32. The problem was that the coaches tried added more ensemble parts the day before. The parts were good, I had liked them, they just sent us over the limit. I only ever write poetry when I'm sad, or angry, or simply upset, and this is one of those times. that poem explaims that we had worked hard and put our heart and souls into this, yet this is the end. This  was the very last performance for this One Acts season. I'm just sad it's ending, it feels too soon. I'll get over this eventually, yet that doesn't mean I'm not sad about this.
Mackongo May 2018
"How are you?"
I'm fine.
How are you?
"I'm alright."

What are you doing, with those?
The pills
The painkillers
Why are you taking them?

Tell me what's wrong.
But he does not say.
He takes the pills
And gets high.

You're not acting like yourself,
I tell him.
He just laughs.
And smiles.
But not like himself.
But it wears off.

He was not fine.
There were problems.
Yet he did not tell me.

He says he is sorry
for getting high, not solving the problems.

I forgive.
I always do.
Because I love him.

But it is not the right way.
Getting high does not help.
Only harms.
Mackongo Jun 2019
You say that you love me,
But I doubt that you do.
You don't know who I am,
But I'm not good for you.
Mackongo May 2019
I've had some time to think
I've had some time alone
And although we did sink,
I'm happy to be on my own.

I had felt so confined,
Now I have room to unwind.
I had felt so trapped,
Now I have room to move.
Felt so unhappy,
Now I can see the light.

There had been happiness,
There had been stability.
But you had been ravenous,
Ripping away at my sanity.

Now I piece myself together,
I feel like me again.
I feel light as a feather,
Now I am zen.
Mackongo Nov 2018
Life is a flower.
Life does not last forever,
and it only lasts for a short while.
Life can be beautiful at times while
flowers can be too.
Life can be sweet at times while
flowers can be just as sweet.

Old age is like a wilting flower,
death is near, yet life
is still there.
The life is short, yet
it is still beautiful.
Life can be sweet, and
flowers smell sweet.
Both are wrinkled.
Mackongo Oct 2019
It's rather easy with encouragement
to fill the pages with words.
Typing not deterred,
Quiet air with frantic typing,
And my ideas and words just flowed.

Poetry I thought was awkward,
Hell, it still quite is.
I didn't think it was my calling,
But to be honest, it was calming.
A class of five, it's rather small,
Yet it's quite fun and there was bonding,

Not the reason for my class,
Yet I'm here with frantic typing.
I wanted to write a story,
With- or without- a happy ending.
I'm just glad I've learned,

I could do that here too.
Mackongo May 2018
Alright. Sure. I'm not just "Fine."
I'm upset. But I'm not going to tell you that.
You might see that, but I'm fine.

That's what I tell you anyway..

Maybe more than upset.

I don't know.
But all I say is that
I'm fine.

What do I want to do right now?
**** someone.
Cuddle my special someone.
Maybe cry again.

I love him.
I always forgive him.
I don't mind that.

But I forgive everyone.
I'm tired.
I give up.
I don't want to just "forgive".

That's all I do, Forgive, Forget.
But I never forget.
I keep it in mind forever.

Something small to forgive, that's no problem.
Something big to forgive.. That's no problem.
That's what I tell them.
But it's not true.

I'm a pushover.
That's all.
They get away with whatever they want,
Mackongo May 2019
I still exist.
Why can't you see me?
I'm right here,
Here in front of you.

You look sad.
Is that because I'm gone?
Or because you didn't take enough?

Is that all I was to you?
Your tiny little toy?
All for you to play with,
For toying with my feelings,

As if I belonged to you.
I thought that I was loved,
But I still miss you.
Why can't you see how much I do?

But I'm still here,
I still exist.
Mackongo Jul 2019
I want to stop remembering you.
The thought of you keeps me up.
Sometimes I remember the good,
other times I remember the bad.
And, oh, how you rile me up now.
I am damaged from you,
It's difficult to trust.
I don't want to love again,
and it's all because of you.
I can't stop thinking of you,
because it makes my blood boil.
I hate the way you acted,
I hate the way you pretended to care,
I hate the way you ******* me up,
but it's too late for me to go back.
Mackongo Sep 2019
We've been apart for months,
Six months, to be exact.
I tried to be okay,
After what you have done.
After all of this time,
You just had to come back.
I thought that I had won.
I thought that you were gone.

I tried to forget you,
Yet you're so desperate.
You fail to see your flaws.
Wondering why I left,
Yet, I'm glad to be rid,
Of that man that I hate.

Go away.
He just won't learn
Mackongo Nov 2018
I'm worthless.
Everyone hates me.
No one cares about me.
I only make things worse.
I am bad at everything I do.
Everyone thinks I am terrible.
These things are not true at all.
I'm not a worthless person at all.
There are lots of people care for me.
I have helped so many people over time.
I can do many things well and I like them.
A lot of people don't think that I am terrible.
These things I tell myself are lies and are wrong.
I must not really have real problems if these are lies.
I'd trust myself more often if I didn't tell myself these things.
Mackongo May 2018
I tell him No.
There is Disappointment.
He makes Mistakes.
I give Forgiveness.
We Forget.
It Repeats.

He apologizes.
I forgive.
I say it's alright.
He tells me it's not.
I remind him why I love him.
I forgive.
We forget.
And repeat.
Mackongo Oct 2019
I shovel the dirt in the ***,
    And white rocks for display.
I start to dig an empty spot,
    In soil, my plants lay.

A small obsession has grown large,
    My love grows like a plant.
As roots stem out, they start to lurch,
    In hopes of sun, they slant.

After time, they will get bigger,
    And demand attention.
My small connection to the Earth,
    For only plants, I’m patient.

Time and time again I’ll check,
    And watch all my plant’s growth.
The roots are long and stems are thick,
    And bigger than I’ve hoped.

They have been dead but back to life,
    So easy to revive.
My mother’s plants have had some strife,
    Yet mine always survive.
This is the last poetry assignment. My teacher liked my previous ballad poems and encouraged me to write another one. I wish I wrote something more deep and meaningful, but succulents work too!
Mackongo Mar 2020
I told myself not to think
about you, but no;
Of course I do.
My heart starts to sink,
But no--
Not of love, no don't be mistaken,
Not of our past,
Not of our risks we have taken.

A tearful regret
On a smooth-sailing ship
through the currents of spite,
And the depths of despair,
My despair.
Mackongo Sep 2019
Require not, my words profound,
Needing only a solid sound.
The uses of a simple rhyme,
Writing and dreaming to pass the time.
Though basic, I may write
Several hours into night.
I smile, not for what I've done,
But for the fact my words have won.
Mackongo Oct 2019
A subtle heat that’s from the lights,
   We see expecting eyes.
A spooky stage that’s full of frights,
   We seek the first place prize.

We hope to perform perfectly,
   A battle of our acting,
We have worked so tirelessly
   To hear the crowd start clapping.

We may not be main characters,
   Yet we carry the plot.
We eagerly await our turn
   To have our shining spot.

We say our lines and do our best,
   Yet judgement we await,
Our performance was a test,
   We were told we were great.
Mackongo Sep 2019
Rarely outside,
Shooting what I find.
Always blasting unknown metal.
Carrying a camera,
With several shots
Of perfect petals.

Places so obscure
These shots are decent,
I’m quite sure.
Kneeling on cement,

A squirrel strolls by
Focus the lens,
Fix the exposure. . . .

Mackongo Aug 2019
I’m standing in my room,
Prepping for the party.
Excited to see my friends
To talk to chat, to drink the tea.

My mother’s tea
Slowly steeping,
A deep inhale
The lovely smell,
Fresh tea awaits.

Open the door and let them in,
My dearest friends.

I seat them first,
Letting my stuffed bear sit
Followed by my favorite dollies.
Before the table I stand,
So proud to be a hostess
When all that mattered was
Cookies and chit chat,
And going with the flow.

All of us in a new world,
Where we were somewhat old,
Where we could still be friends,
And nothing held us back.

Letting our tea grow cold,
We finally drink
In my room so pink.
And there we sit
Until it’s time to go.

Friends long gone,
But memory stays.
I realize now
I’m stuck in my old ways.
My values stick,
Black tea still brewing,
I wonder how
My old friends are doing.
Assignment number 3 in my creative writing class. We did a memory map project
Mackongo Sep 2019
To leave the house,
I check my things.
I see my phone and spot my keys,
And what do you call it. . . ?
For my cash and my I.D. . . . .
Ah yes, a wallet.

I tap my pockets,
Once, now twice,
Nowhere to be found.
Internally, I quickly panic,
Externally, I look manic.

I check my purse,
When was the last use?
I check, and I check,
No dice.

My jacket, maybe?
I don’t trust those pockets.
What if I dropped it?
Oh god, no, it’s gone,
What do I do?

My pockets, again,
tap. . .  tap. . . .
Shrugging, I sit,
Too nervous to think,
But something was on the seat.

Who even puts things in their back pockets?
Another creative writing assignment. This one was more based on line breaks.
Mackongo Oct 2019
A mindless drone
With no purposeful existence,
So easily replaceable.

So, why am I still here?
Mackongo Jul 2019
I push you away,
but for what?
A stupid fear
we'll fall apart
Mackongo Aug 2019
A large tilted tree
Over a neglected grave.
Little lonely flowers
Litter most tombs.

Mossy and misshapen,
Some stones are forgotten.
A manicured grave,
For people that care.
Some overgrown grass,
And the musty air.

Each holding a life full of memories
That no one remembers.
Hundreds to thousands
Of isolated souls.
Hundreds to thousands
Of lives now empty.
And a slab of stone,
Of all that’s left.

Morbid but peaceful,
The chirps are the music,
Singing along for the dead.

Lives once lived,
Now lives are lost.
A place of the dead,
Yet teeming with life.
Tied down by a legacy,
Somber and silent
The graves line the hills.
The trees offer shade
To those that can grieve.

A resting place well deserved,
And family together are found,
With empty spaces reserved,
Ancestors are knowingly proud.

Gone from this world,
But not gone from our hearts.
Every death is a new start.
Death’s kind embrace
Has sweetly lured
The hundreds of dead,
Now to a new world.

More losses to face,
Loved and adored,
A casket adorned,
Now buried but breathing,
In other’s hearts.
My second assigned poem for my creative writing class
Mackongo Nov 2018
I hate you
I hate what you are
I hate what you do
I hate that you make me care

I hate that I love you
I hate that I still want you

You are a siren
You make me love you yet
You make me die inside

But of course
You don't know this
You can't know this
You won't know this
Mackongo Oct 2019
Attempts of sleep,
To no avail.
Surrounded by silence,
And silence broken,
By slow ticks.

Hands always move, always constant,
Yet, slowly coming to a close,
With never ending movement.

The clock is worn,
It’s old,
It’s exhausted. Like me.
The clock strikes four,
And I’m still here,
Suffocating in near silence.
A portion of an assignment. This part is my favorite
Mackongo Sep 2019
Emotionally unavailable
During dark and dull days.
A long lasting boredom,
Slow day in a dreary haze,
And gradually hitting rock bottom.

Lay there in the silence,
Struggling with self hatred,
Too tired to change my clothing,
Why bother with hygiene,
With such a self loathing?

An uneven balance,
A ratio of hate.
Again lonely at heart,
Emotionally desolate,
Tearing myself apart.
Mackongo Nov 2018
How can I know the answers
to problems so complex,
if I am still being treated
as a dumb toddler?

The problems are a pool of water,
and I am a small human,
being tossed in,
not eased,
into the water.

They expect me to be calm and collected
as I flail my arms and legs about,
with water filling my mouth and ears,
drowning me.

I should be eased in,
being placed in the shallow end,
learning how to solve my problem
while gently wading in the gentle waters.

Others think that I should be
placed on the side of the pool,
with a book on how to swim.
Instead of being in the pool,
they think I should learn how
based on text and examples.
Mackongo Aug 2019
Nocturnal poet,
Dark and eerie,
Sitting in solitude.
Quiet and Quick,
Words fill the screen,
Her only light,
In a dark world,
It's blue and bright.

Not deafened by silence,
But loud heavy metal,
Silent to the surrounding world.

A short poem,
About some small pain,
Written at home,
And posted online
For a moment of fame.

No use of sleeping,
With such sinking feeling,
Of never being perfect,
Or adored.

Out of all the quiet,
The clicks are heard,
Erasing each unimportant word.
Almost untouched,
A clean canvas remains,
No point being rushed,
No point having pains.
High school started up for me again, and I got lucky enough to be in a creative writing class this year! My teacher decided to focus on poetry for the first quarter, so this is my first assignment. I got another one coming (But I left the notebook at school so it'll be up later). This assignment was a self-description of how I write
Mackongo Apr 2019
I didn't deserve you.
Mistakes were made.
Selfishness made me toxic.
Our relationship was too much.
Relationships are tough,
Really, I was horrible.
You are better off without me.

I should have called more.
Maybe then I would still love you.
Told you I'm not a good person.
Only if I could still love you.
Xpectations weren't met because,
I wasn't enough for you.
Crushing your heart was the worst.

I'm sorry.
Mackongo Sep 2019
Something is wrong. . . .
I’m not sure what,
It’s hard to tell.

Did I forget something?
Did I do something wrong?
Oh god, of course, I have,
What was I thinking,
Everything I do,
It’s always wrong!

Something. . . .
So small,
So insignificant,
Of course it matters!
Everyone cares about it!
Don’t mess up a single detail,
Don’t forget to do that thing, okay,

What thing? What did I forget?
It’s not important.
If it is. . . .

What do I do?
I’m not doing this right.
How am I doing it wrong?
It’s such a simple task,
Even a bird,
wings tied behind,
Can do this better.

No better than a bird,
But is that true?

Surely not.
If it is. . . .

Everything is a mistake!
Nothing here is right,
I don’t know how to fix it.
How do I fix me?

                        Off. . . .
                                Wrong. . . .

It can’t be my imagination,
Right? Please say I’m right..
But it’s hard to tell.
This isn't that great IMO, but it's still something!
Mackongo Sep 2019
Overpowering nihilism,
Crushing existentialism.
Rainy days
Seemingly never ending,
and destruction,
Mackongo Jul 2019
Everyday is the same,
All this wasted energy,
Secluded by shame,
Time spent by crying
from a stupid memory,
Slowly, but surely, dying
Mackongo Oct 2019
Blank contacts in the case they sit,
  Fake blood and latex too,
Attempting to look like I’m bit,
  Filling the lines I drew.

Disheveled hair and torn up clothes,
  My makeup dark and loud,
The perfect pigments that I chose,
  A zombie and I’m proud.
My teacher wanted us to try ballad stanzas

— The End —